


A Hard Man Is Good To Find

by skepwith



Series: Sexytimes With Deadpool [3]
Category: Deadpool (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Muscle Worship, PWP, sauna shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6688669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skepwith/pseuds/skepwith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deadpool here. D’you think maybe Cable has TOO many muscles? Ha! Trick question! No such thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hard Man Is Good To Find

So there we are on the beach, me in nothing but my mask and a pair of trunks and Cable in a snug black Speedo. It’s warm and the sun is shining, the waves are waving, the palm trees are rustling in the breeze… the whole nine yards. Cable’s lying on a towel and I’m spreading suntan lotion—the kind that smells like coconut oil—all over his back.  
  
{Um… }  
  
And I mean, you’ve seen Cable. The man’s built like a brick shithouse—if brick shithouses were ten stories high and had biceps you could hide small children in. It’s not that I’m a scrawny guy myself, but he makes Arnold Schwarzenegger look like David Bowie. So I’m rubbing lotion into his upper back, running my fingers along where the metal (okay, “techno-organic mesh”) of his left arm and shoulder meets his skin, and the silver stuff is weirdly smooth but also warm, which I didn’t expect but is surprisingly nice.  
  
“Hmm. That feels good, Wade,” he says.  
  
[Wait… ]  
  
My trunks are maybe starting to feel a little tight as I rub my hands over his big, firm muscles. His deltoids, trapezoids, altoids… you get the idea. I’m going lower and lower, and he groans and says, “Fuck, Wade, you’re so good at this!”  
  
[Okay, I’m definitely sure this never happened.]  
  
{Yeah, isn’t this Spank Bank Fantasy #4?}  
  
So? Reality is overrated.  
  
[I’m sure they’d rather read about one of the times we _actually_ got off with Nate.]  
  
Fine, fine! But don’t blame me if there aren’t any tropical beaches!  
  
Let’s see… If I remember right, the first time me and Nate (a.k.a. Cable) hooked up was at his Swiss Safehouse of Solitude. This was just after I’d saved him from death and/or insanity, so, you know, it was Tuesday.  
  
Now, if you’re like me, you’re probably picturing this safehouse as some dingy little motel room guarded by a coupla feds in cheap suits, or maybe an abandoned warehouse by the docks, but that’s not Nate’s style. The man wouldn’t know downmarket if it bit him in the (nicely sculpted) ass. His safehouse was a chalet in the Alps with killer views and the kind of “rustic” decor popular with people who’ve never had to chop their own firewood. It had four bedrooms, a hot tub, and a sauna. I never saw him use the hot tub (tragically), but he did like that sauna. Said it helped when his big ol’ muscles ached from hauling around all that techno-organic beefcake.  
  
So this one time I decided to join him. For purposes of overall health and relaxation.  
  
“Wade, wouldn’t you be more comfortable without the suit?”  
  
“What? No! No, I like to, uh, flush it out regularly with, um, fluids. Keeps it shiny.”  
  
“If you say so.” Nate leaned back against the wooden planks (cedar or some fancy shit like that) and closed his eyes. He was dressed appropriately, of course—meaning he was naked except for an itty bitty white towel like the kind they hand out in San Francisco bathhouses. Not that I’ve ever been to one of those.  
  
“Wade. You’re staring.”  
  
How the hell could he tell with his eyes closed? Anyway, no one could blame me—the guy was clearly packing some serious heat under that scrap of terrycloth. It would’ve been physically impossible not to stare. And did I detect a little bit of motion under there? Was Punxsutawney Phil about to pop out and see his long winter shadow?  
  
I glanced up at Nate, who had opened his eyes and was watching me with that combination of annoyance and amusement he does so well. I might have been imagining it, but I was pretty sure that was a sparkle in his eye. Not the yellow glowy one, obviously—that always sparkles—but the bright blue one, the one that’s the colour of the ocean and just as easy to drown in.  
  
{Dear Diary… }  
  
Anywho. Where was I? Oh, right—Nate’s junk. So now I was pretty sure something was stirring in the depths of that towel, and being the kind of empathetic person who lives to aid his fellow man, I said, “You, uh, want some help with that? You know, in a bro-y, totally no homo, what’s-a-handjob-between-friends kinda way?”  
  
His only reaction was to lift one eyebrow. He just sat there looking at me, like some muscly panther lounging on a tree branch. “Is that what you’d like, Wade?”  
  
“Oh, hey, y’know. Just tryna be a boy scout, do my civic duty and all that. I know how important that stuff is to you. Wouldn’t want to let down a pal, right, pal? Pally pal pal.”  
  
“Wade—”  
  
“Plus I really wanna touch your cock. Shit, did I say that out loud?”  
  
Nate chuckled—that’s really the only word for it—and leaned forward, detaching himself from the wall. “Be my guest,” he said, and pulled open the towel. He did it unhurriedly, totally caj, like, “I come from the future when nudity is no big deal plus I have the body of a Greek god so whatevs.” His cock was plump and pink where it lay against his thigh, and filling out quickly. I hope he never reads this, ’cause the guy’s already got a swelled head (ha!), but that shit belonged in a museum with a gold frame around it and two round-the-clock security guards. It was glorious.  
  
“So, uh,” I said smoothly, “I guess circumcision isn’t a thing in the future?”  
  
“It fell out of fashion, yes. It’s considered a somewhat barbaric tradition in my time.”  
  
“Oh, hey, no argument here. I’m definitely liking the turtleneck look.” He snorted. “Mind if I… ?” My hand was already reaching for it.  
  
“I’d rather you took off your glove first.”  
  
“Right, right.” Hopefully he wouldn’t be too grossed out. He could just close his eyes. I pulled off my right glove and spit in my palm, which, I know, not classy, but neither is a dry jack.  
  
His cock was firming up nicely as I circled it with my thumb and forefinger and began an easy rhythm. The head peeped out of the foreskin on each pass, bright red and shiny. Behind my mask, I licked my lips. Before long his foreskin had rolled back fully, and Nate was standing tall, and hard as an iron bar.  
  
“God, I’d love to ride this into the sunset.”  
  
{Fuckwit! You said that out loud!}  
  
[Shit. Now he’s going to freak out and get weird. Quick, say something heterosexual!]  
  
But Nate wasn’t freaking out. In fact, his cock twitched against my palm. And when I looked up and met his eyes, he didn’t look away.  
  
Oh, fuck. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. “Is it hot in here or is it just me?”  
  
“It’s a sauna,” he said dryly. The “you idiot” was implied. But he reached up to a dial on the wall and and turned it down, all considerate-like.  
  
Tightening my grip, I picked up the pace a little and noticed his breathing rate was a skooch elevated. His pecs and abs moved with each breath, pink on one side and silver on the other, and I _really_ wanted to touch them. Pulling off my left glove with my teeth, I ran my fingertips along the metal skin where it ran all the way down to his hip. His breath stuttered.  
  
“Can you feel that?”  
  
“Yes. It feels… different.”  
  
“Good?”  
  
“Very.”  
  
“No left nipple, huh?” I said, my mouth operating on automatic as usual while my fingers slid over his silver pec. “I guess that would’ve been a bit too _Batman & Robin._ Still, that one looks kinda lonely.” Without letting up on his cock, I ran a thumb over his solitary pink nipple. It stiffened right away, so I rolled it between my thumb and forefinger, lightly pinching. Nate inhaled sharply.  
  
“Why, Priscilla, you sensitive thing, you!” Without really thinking about it, I pulled my mask up over my chin and latched on with my mouth. His breath came out in a series of short, sharp huffs as I sucked and licked and nibbled and bit. When I pulled back, his nipple was red and shiny with spit, and a flush had spread down his right side from his throat to his abs.  
  
“Wade,” he rumbled, his voice about an octave lower than usual. The sound went straight to my dick, and I nearly lost my rhythm. His cock was leaking precome now, bubbling over like a water fountain. My tongue darted out to lick my lips and I thought, _Why not?_  
  
Bending forward, I lapped at his seeping slit. Nate swallowed a groan. I wrapped my mouth around the head and sucked. “Wait,” he said, like it hurt to speak. “Wade…”  
  
Damn, just when I was really getting into it. I pulled off, spit trailing from my lips, ready for some kind of reprimand. _Too gay, too fast,_ I thought.  
  
“Take off your mask.”  
  
I froze. He didn’t look like he was joking. In fact, he looked wrecked, his face flushed to the roots of his white hair, his pupil huge and dark.  
  
“What?” I said. “You… you don’t want that.”  
  
“I’ve seen you before.”  
  
“Yeah, and you’ve seen dog shit before. That don’t mean you want it all up in your junk.”  
  
His rough voice deeply sincere in the way only Nate’s can be, he said, “I want to see your eyes.”  
  
I gulped. “What are you, a chick?”  
  
“Please.”  
  
Oh, shit. Mister Time-Travelling Super-Soldier Jesus-Wannabe just said _please._ How the hell could I refuse now? “Okay,” I said, “but don’t blame me if it kills the mood deader than Bela Lugosi. And if you feel like you’re gonna puke, do me a favour and turn away first, all right?”  
  
Letting go of his cock—which my hand was not happy about—I lifted off my mask, not looking at him as I did it.  
  
He sighed. “Thank you, Wade.”  
  
“Yeah, sure, whatevs, en bee dee—” The only way to stop babbling was to shove his cock back in my mouth, so I did. I still had to wrap my hands around most of him; there was only so much even I could stuff in my mouth, and my gag reflex was just as resilient as the rest of me. So I kept my grip firm and went to town with my hyperactive mouth, sucking enthusiastically, sliding my tongue along the fat vein running up the underside of his cock, pressing against that spot just under the head, and generally having a gay old time.  
  
Meanwhile, my hands pumped in time with my mouth, everything slick with the drool that ran out of the sides of my lips and slid down his shaft. I was making greedy, sloppy noises and Nate was breathing like a steam engine.  
  
“Wade,” he groaned, spreading his hands across my bald and bumpy scalp. His palms were big and warm, not pushing, just holding, cradling my skull in his tender grip. I may have let out a weak little whine—I couldn’t help it: his hands were so big and strong, and they held me so surely. His lips brushed the exposed back of my neck, and suddenly it was too much.  
  
I pulled off his cock (and nearly clipped him in the process, but luckily he had good reflexes), wiping my lips and chin on the back of my hand. His hand closed around mine on his cock, tightening my grip till I was stripping him at a brutal pace. And then he was coming, throbbing inside my fist while all his muscles clenched. He cock erupted like a spunk geyser all over my hand, his abs, the cedar planks, and several low-orbiting satellites.  
  
“Fuck,” I said. ’Cause, yeah.  
  
I wiped my hand on the front of my suit— _I’ll send Nate the dry-cleaning bill_ —while he leaned back against the wall, panting. Before long, his breathing evened out. Smiling his little Mona Lisa smile, he said, “Thank you, Wade. That was very satisfying.” Cool as a cucumber.  
  
“Oh yeah, well, y’know,” I said in my usual chill, low-key way. “Glad I could, uh, help out a bud. Man. Manfriend.” My voice was even raspier than usual.  
  
{This is your voice on dick.}  
  
Speaking of dick, how long did I have to wait before ducking out to take care of myself? Would it be rude to just whip it out here? The situation was kind of urgent—I was sure I was starting to leave a wet spot on the front of my suit.  
  
“Wade,” said Nate, noticing my restlessness. He leaned forward and pressed a large, warm palm against the obvious tent in my pants. “Allow me to reciprocate.”  
  
“Uh… ah! You don’t, um, have to.” His hand gave a squeeze. “Unlessyoureallywantto! Oh, God!”  
  
“It’s only polite,” he said, his mouth curling up at the corner.  
  
“Well, okay, Miss Manners. Far be it from me to—aah!” He’d pulled down my pants and underwear, only momentarily taken aback at the sight of my leopard-print thong, and Wade Jr sprang free, waving insistently for attention.  
  
Nate enfolded my cock in a strong grip. His other hand, the silver one, slid over my hip and down to cup my balls. I shivered at the feeling of warm, unnaturally smooth skin on my sack. A techno-organic thumb stroked my balls while his other—human—hand slid teasingly up and down my shaft at the leisurely pace of a senior citizen out for a Sunday drive.  
  
“Fuck, Nate!” I wheezed. “You’re killin’ me here!”  
  
His breath hot on my ear, he whispered, “I’m going to take good care of you, Wade. You’re gonna give it up for me nice and pretty, aren’t you?”  
  
I kinda mewled at that. Then his mouth was on mine, warm and wet, and my mind blanked out for a few ecstatic seconds.  
  
[Holy shit, he’s kissing us!]  
  
He kissed me like I was virgin territory and he was Samuel de Champlain. His lips and tongue—forceful, possessive, and tender—left me swooning like a heroine in a romance novel. “Oh, you cad!” I murmured when we broke off to breathe. “Take me manfully!”  
  
He grunted—or laughed, I’m not sure which—then descended on my neck like it was an all-you-can-eat buffet, licking and sucking and nibbling. I tried to warn him about my disgusting skin, but all that came out of my mouth was “Gnah!”  
  
His fist tightened on my cock, catching under the head in a way that made me whimper. I grabbed at his back, digging into those amazing muscles, clinging onto him like Kate Winslet on a life raft. My dick was throbbing, my balls were tightening, and I was so fucking close. “Na… Nate… Oh, fuck… gonna…”  
  
My hips snapped up helplessly as he quickened his pace. “Now, Wade,” he commanded. “Come for me now.” I couldn’t have disobeyed him if my life depended on it. I arched my back as my orgasm hit me like a freight train. Maybe he really _was_ Jesus, I thought dazedly. There was a Second Coming joke in there somewhere, but my brain was too come-addled to find it, which should tell you how far gone I was.  
  
He stroked me through it until I whimpered, too sensitive. Eventually I pried my grip off his shoulders and slumped back bonelessly against the wall. When I opened my eyes, he was watching me smugly, his eyes gleaming.  
  
“That was—good,” I croaked. “Yeah. Good. Two thumbs up.” I tried to make the gesture, but my arms told me to go fuck myself. He looked even smugger, if that was possible (of course it was; this is Nate we’re talking about). Who knew a simple tandem jack-off session could turn into something so… so…  
  
[Yeah.]  
  
He retrieved his little towel and used it to wipe his hands, then began cleaning me up. What a gentleman.  
  
{Think he’ll ever let us do this again?}  
  
“Shh! Don’t jinx it!”  
  
Nate only raised an eyebrow at that—he was used to my special brand of weirdness by now—and kept gently wiping down my abs. “Next time,” he said casually, “ _I_ get to suck _you_ off. And I believe you said something about riding me?”  
  
Angel choruses erupted from the sauna’s ceiling, scattering flower petals and candy hearts. “Best. Bromance. Ever,” I said through my grin.

 

 


End file.
